


Perfect, actually

by Rakshasha



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Just a sprinkle, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Post-X-Men: Dark Phoenix (Movie), Romance, Self-Indulgent, Smut, also a dash of dadneto, having Peter for five minutes is the movie's worst crime, it wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it, mentions of canon characters death, more like instead of living, no beta we die like man, now I let it breath, self-indulgent all the way, smut with feels, with just one small change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshasha/pseuds/Rakshasha
Summary: It seemed Peter's destiny to always be too late, to mess up when he had the best chance. His body is bruised and broken, his spirit not much better, and there are glaring holes everywhere he looks - the Mansion will never be the same again. But when everyone leaves,shecomes back. A ghost from the past that left his heart bleeding, torn into shreds and an empty pit that never got patched up. She’s there and she’ssmiling. Maybe, for once, he got a second chance to not mess up again.Ifshe decides to stay...This time he wants to make it right.
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Perfect, actually

**Author's Note:**

> This story took over my life for a few months - it wouldn't leave my mind until I wrote it. It sat for few months, so I could clean it up as much as I could, and now I set it free. I know not much people are interested in xOC stories, so to those few ones that want to check this story out - I hope you're going to enjoy it. I gave it my whole heart and soul, hopefully it'll resonate with someone.
> 
> P.S. Formatting got wonky in copy-pasting, so I apologize for any stray spaces where they shouldn't be. I tried to eliminate as much as I saw. Any other mistakes are my own, English is my second language, but writing in it is fun, so fun I will have. Enjoy!

Peter knew it was a bad idea.

The moment he saw Scott and Prof’s faces, an uneasy feeling twisted itself under his ribcage, fluttery and unsteady like a butterfly trapped in a jar too small for its wings to be of much use.

They should’ve stopped and asked more questions. Get the whole picture. But who could’ve thought it’d turn out so badly?

They talked about _Jean_ – powerful and strong but sweet, not a bad bone in her body. She’d never do them any harm, not intentionally. So Peter wasn’t scared.

Maybe he should have been.

*

He wakes up to a splitting headache.

Something is insistently pounding on the inside of his skull, trying to crack the bone and get free, his temples burning as if someone was pressing hot metal to it. The pain is quite possibly blinding, coiled tightly inside and radiating behind his eyes. When he tries to open them, a groan tears itself out of his throat, stinging on the way up. 

It feels like someone’s slicing his neck with razor blades from inside out and now he’s almost sure the headache really did blind him, because everything is dull and blurry, and he can’t focus, but there’s someone there–

_„Peter_ ” 

It sounds like a breath, shaky and torn – like she can’t quite believe it – and he’d know the voice anywhere. 

He doesn’t dare hope she’s really there, not just his imagination, but tries to blink away the blurriness anyway, tries to lean closer only for his body to protest in a violent surge of pain, tearing out a pitiful moan. He’s quite clearly dead, trapped in hell, his head torn to shreds while his heart’s feeding on false hope. 

She leans forward to him – if it’s really her – and something warm and solid lands on his hand. Just the slightest of brushes, soft skin on his littered with gashes. He almost doesn’t register it, but then the warmth spreads through his arm, to his head, and he can finally _see_.

The room comes into view, the lights dimmed, but it’s clearly the small infirmary Hank has in the basement.

The splintering and shredding inside his skull dulls to an insistent throb and all the rest of his body flares to life with the same deep bone ache that radiates through his whole being – when he tries to move his legs, the spike-like needles make him grit his teeth, but at least nothing seems too badly broken. There are some bandages around his calves and left thigh, his left forearm is in a cast and his right shoulder feels off somehow, though there’s no outright damage he can see or feel. His face – the skin _on_ his face – throbs and tingles with probably too many bruises and gashes to make him still look in any way presentable, so instead of trying to assess them, he shoves it deep, deep down and ignores for now.

Then, gathering whatever will is still left in his body, Peter turns and holds his breath. 

If not for her warm hand laying softly in his, he’d think she’s just an apparition of his dazed, pain addled brain, but the moment she notices his gaze on their joined hands, his heart picking up its race and breath caught somewhere inside his lungs, she moves to entwine their fingers, delicate and considerate, with just the slightest of squeezes. 

„It’s okay.” Her voice is as soft as Peter remembers, tender and low.

He draws in a shaky inhale and curls his fingers around hers with an exhale. Only then something finally uncoils inside his body, bleeds out with the tension, body deflating so he can somehow relax into the mattress, the ache seeping deep into the bones, retreating to the back of his consciousness. He allows himself to look up, to feel the missing beat of his heart thud on his bruised ribs. 

She sits in a chair close to his bed, leaned forward, her long tresses brushing his arm. It raises goosebumps along his skin.

She’s really there.

„Hey,” she murmurs, a light curl to her cherry red lips. 

„Hey,” he croaks, his voice rough and shattering on a simple word, finishing in a harsh cough that racks his whole body.

She reaches for something on the bedside table and when his coughing fit ends, there’s a glass with a straw under his nose.

„Here,” she’s holding it up for him, „just take it slowly.”

The irony isn’t lost on him, but he doesn’t bother answering, just drinks the water with relief. It’s probably the best he’s had in his life.

When he’s finished and she places it back on the table, not for a second releasing her hold on his hand, he allows himself to lean back into the pillows and look her over.

She looks worse than Peter remembers.

The ever-present shadows under her eyes are deeper, stark bruises on the unrivaled paleness of her skin – it’s almost gray in this light – her face looks sharper, if it was ever possible, like maybe she lost some weight, and her eyes are decidedly too dark, the violet around her pupil barely visible in the almost all-black irises. They look really close to what he sees in the mirror and that spikes something in his chest – he always loved how they glowed pure violet, a bright ring around dilated pupils. It made his skin hot and his blood rush inside his veins. But now–

Now she looks exhausted.

Worried. Weary.

Tired.

He draws in a careful breath, testing how his throat feels.

„Eris?”

She looks up at him, one side of her mouth curling just a little, and her eyes lighten the slightest bit. Peter almost hates how it makes his heart skip.

„Yes?”

He lets his thumb trace over the back of her hand. Soft and warm.

Real.

„What–” He almost chokes on his tongue, raw and rough, but he'll be damned if this stops him. So Peter just clears his throat and proceeds, ignoring her worried glance. „Why are you here?”

There’s a beat of silence when it looks like she won’t answer, her gaze firmly locked on him, before her shoulders slump the tiniest bit as if releasing tension.

„Hank needed a hand...” It’s simple, a low murmur and an answer he should expect, but one that makes his chest squeeze painfully nonetheless. Until she follows it with: „And I wanted to come,” her lips twitch into a warmer sort of smile, even if her eyes stay weary and somehow uneasy, „for some time now, too.”

He wants to hold onto those words, let them inside his chest to grow and expand and steal his breath, make the painful throb of hope real and not just a figment of his imagination, because maybe – maybe – if he focuses on it enough, it’ll become real. If only he had a wish-granting mutation. But he shouldn’t let his imagination run, shouldn’t grasp for the helpless hope that could destroy him yet again, so he quiets those thoughts down – and there are still puzzles missing, his brain is a muddled mess, and he can’t _remember_.

„What happened?” It leaves on a single exhale and sounds almost dead.

Her smile disappears, making the sharp contrasts on her face that much clearer, and her eyes go back to that shadow that’s even darker than the deep violet of her braid. He wants to take it back, but he _has to know._

„I don’t know much,” she says, apologetic, „I just got here and Hank’s busy with the Professor...” She glances to the door, everything about her posture and face tensing in a way that’s almost invisible. But he still remembers her tells, sees right through it with a painful awareness.

He can’t imagine how hectic the energy in the mansion must be right now for her to look like that. He’s probably not helping, but she’s still with him, so...

_Fuck_.

It must be bad.

Real bad.

It comes back to him in flashes.

A suburban area. Small houses with white fences. X-Men all suited up and even the Professor rolling alongside them. Jean’s there – but she’s not. Not really.

He remembers sirens, people – and all hell letting loose.

They’re scattered, the debris is falling through the air, so he tries to do what he does best. Speed up there and stop it before anyone gets badly hurt.

He can’t see the invisible force field around Jean.

It throws him off and into the pavement before he gets too close. As if on instinct, with no real control – like an animal lashing out, sending him shattering through the street, fences, bushes, stopping on a tree. Confusion’s the only thing he remembers before blinking out.

Now he thinks he should have listened to Hank about how much force he creates in his super-speed, he should have taken Prof’s advice on thinking things through before acting to heart. Maybe then he wouldn’t end up battered up and of no use, maybe he would have been able to really stop it.

But that’s not what happened.

He was too slow, again.

The next time he wakes up, Eris is not there.

Charles is, though.

The man looks worse than when Peter met him – and that’s saying something. He doesn’t reek of alcohol, doesn’t have that hobo look – he’s still perfectly clear-faced and elegant, but the weariness, the pain, the sorrow. Honestly, Peter would prefer to deal with the junkie Xavier, not this guilt-tripping wreck. But that’s just a passing thought, because when he starts to talk–

Peter almost throws up.

Bile rises up to his throat, bitter and burning, but all the rest feels hollow, distant – as if he’s trapped inside some sort of an aquarium. Everything blurs and dulls around him, sound coming as if from far away, not really connecting to anything inside him, bouncing off and leaving a strange echo that makes his chest squeeze and lungs cave in. 

He can’t look up at Charles as the man finishes his speech, as he wishes Peter to get better, even as he leaves, the door hissing. There’s cotton inside his brain, fuzzy and numbing. He can feel the warmth seeping out of his bones as if someone sucked it out, a shiver running along his spine that’s cold and sharp like a blade.

The door hiss again.

It feels like forever before she crosses the space to his bed, but when she _finally_ reaches him, he gulps air as if he just drowned.

„Hey,” her soft voice somehow reaches inside the bowl, clear and surprisingly strong, „focus on me.”

There’s a hand lacing their fingers together, chasing away the cold and numb, the heat expanding, traveling up his arm and through his chest. But he still feels as if he’s drifting in space, nothing solid and real he can focus on.

„Peter?”

Her voice breaks clear, it’s the only thing besides her hand that seems to be inside his bubble, so he reaches out – or tries to, but his limbs fail, won’t move, the ache keeping him grounded as if weighted down by rocks. His eyes blink open, though he didn’t realize how tight he pinched them, and looks up to her concerned face. She blurs and he keeps the pitiful sound trapped inside his chest.

Even though he can’t say it, can’t seem to move his mouth, she somehow guesses, as she always did, and maybe that’s because she’s an empath or because he’s probably silently screaming with his whole person or maybe she just knows him that well, but she’s sitting beside him on the bed, leaning in–

„Is it–“

There’s uncertainty in her voice, but before she can halt in the movement, he’s nodding and finally, _finally,_ he can move.

Eris leans in across his chest, her hip flush beside his, and braces herself on an elbow placed next to his head. She brings their still intertwined hands up to rest against his heart and brushes the hair out of his face with the other. His arm is in a cast, elbow to the wrist, but he’s able to bring it up and around her waist with his sheer will. She gets the hint.

„Tell me if it hurts,” she says. Peter nods, but he won’t, not really.

He’s already hurting all over, so she can’t make it any worse. Not when all he wants is her pressed everywhere she can be.

So he pulls her closer and Eris relents, her arm sliding under the pillow so she can lean against his chest, his shoulders, essentially curl around him, almost protectively, and he can finally press his face in the crook of her neck, breath in the scent that was ingrained in his brain, cherries and citrus, so familiar after so long that his eyes sting. It’s a little more painful on his ribs and he can’t take a long inhale, but her warmth chases away the cold, seeps through his skin, into his bones, allows him to sink into quiet oblivion, and finally _breathe._

It’s awkward, really, and she’ll probably feel it in her back in a while, but right now he doesn’t care, and by the tiny brush of her lips on his temple he chances a guess she doesn’t mind that much either.

Somewhere between his drumming heart and her steady breathing, it doesn’t take much for him to fall asleep.

He wakes up later several times, but it’s that dazed, half-aware type of waking he won’t be sure it even happened in the morning. Still, he notices that throughout his nap Eris moved to one of his sides, laying curled and pressed to him, just under his arm. 

She’s putting no pressure on any part of his body, yet they’re flush together, the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling brushing against his ribs, thighs grazing his, careful in a way that ties around his throat. 

Peter’s consciousness is blurry and not really there, but he relishes the quiet moment, the warmth her body provides, spreading through him with a jittery feeling he ignores. She’s right under the arm in a cast, so he can’t really move it and not wake her up, but somewhere in the past hours their fingers untangled, laying loosely against his chest, so he can move his right hand up. 

Any other time he’d probably hesitate, maybe even abandon the notion altogether, but his mind is only half-present and he reaches up to trace her cheekbone, a careful brush of fingertips, up to the violet tresses that slide through his fingers. Smooth, warm, _real_ –

Eris shifts, brushes against him and settles, arm loosely draped over his abdomen. 

Peter exhales a low breath, warmth and calm spreading into his chest, easy, relaxed, in a way he can’t remember. So he shifts just a bit, presses himself closer, catches a whiff of the unique brand of her scent and regrets not being able to bury his nose in the mass of her hair until he drifts off again. 

It’s a peaceful, blank kind of sleep, no dreams and no nightmares.

The next couple of days are all a blur. 

Peter feels the hollowness expand in his chest, but takes it upon himself to lift everyone’s mood – or at least don’t worsen it. He was always good with deflecting and defusing tension, high time he uses it for the better. Hard to do from an infirmary bed, but he manages.

Hank comes to check on him and he looks even worse than the Professor, the valiant attempts to hide his pain and anguish behind a calm facade doing frankly nothing, so Peter feels kinda shitty for keeping the doc up. But Hank hushes him and says the work helps him, that it’s what Raven would want, for the life to move on and thrive, so Peter shuts up and lets him check his vitals. At least two weeks of bed rest is the verdict – he groans and whines how unfair it is, his shattered leg took less to heal, and there’s a small smile on the doc’s face, so he counts it as a win.

The rest of the X-Men visit him too, the glaring hole of where Jean should be a constant reminder that’s forcefully ignored (but one that gradually fades into a background echo of _should be, but isn’t and this is the life we live now)._

Orroro brings in the wicked humor, Jubilee and Kurt the cheer and optimism, but Scott...

Peter’s surprised the man doesn’t look half as bad as Hank. But maybe that’s because of the visor, his eyes always hidden from view, not letting anything slip through. Scott keeps a stone faced calm, the traces of a great leader that Peter never really saw shining through quite as much as they do now, and brings him his music, never talking about what happened. 

Peter won’t pry, it’s not his place, and knows that if Scott wanted to talk, he would, that’s how it worked between them. A silent kind of understanding and friendship, snark and banter upfront, but always having each other’s back. He never thought he’d have that kind of connection with anyone and now was more thankful for it than ever. So he stays silent, enjoys the short moments of distraction the X-Men provide, and tries to ignore the aching longing in his chest every time she isn’t there, because he wouldn’t overreact, no, not this time. 

Sometimes though, when he wakes up alone, the boredom tinged with the constant pushed back fear of „she’s gone, _no_ , not _her_ too, not _again_ ” rearing its ugly head up makes him agitated to the point his body aches, protests from the strain put on his muscles with all the tense and jumbled thoughts. But she always comes, in the end.

On times she brings in food, hot and spicy, the way he remembers her making all those years back, warming up his belly and chest with both the food and the familiarity. The Mansion’s cooks were great and Peter would eat pretty much anything, but the thought that this is _for him_ , it did something funny to his heart. And she clearly considered his state, keeping down the spices to a level that didn’t aggravate his throat, even though he knew how much she loved them. He came to miss it over the years despite how some made him straight up cough.

Other times they just sit together, spend hours catching up, playing cards – she pointedly ignores his blatant cheating – and other dumb games to pass the time. She still looks tired and Peter guesses the energy in the Mansion is still quite hectic, but it lessens with every day. Her cheeks gain a healthy pink flush, the shadows under her eyes lighten and some tension leaves her shoulders. She forgoes her heels for flats and her smart shirt with pencil skirts for soft fabric dresses that hug her form, loose sweaters over them. Peter tries to ignore the sudden, urging thought of how much he’d die to see her wearing his flannel.

There’s always an underlying layer of _something_ surrounding them, but neither touches or acknowledges it, and Peter’s okay with that. As long as they fill the silence with laughter and she keeps sitting at his side.

Peter honestly can’t remember how long it was since his face hurt from smiling, but it does frequently now, making his chest ache in a much different way.

It’s not that he didn’t smile or laugh those past years, but… In hindsight, he can see it clearly now. Most of his nervous energy was gone, he didn’t feel the need to dash around all the time, didn’t bother to try and quiet the annoyingly fast paced pattern of his thoughts – everything those past years felt numbed down, hollow, passing like sand through his fingers, and maybe it wasn’t that bad, but with all of that in perspective comes a bitter realization.

He grew stagnant.

How ironic.

The speedster that run from commitments, didn’t really understand what it meant – didn’t try to – feared what would tie him down, feared staying in one place when he needed to _move,_ to always keep in motion, because he was there once, trapped in a basement of his own doubts, and it haunted him.

Oh, how stupid he was…

But now, with his recently revived sprouts of hope festering into his very being, back comes his long gone energy, the buzzing under his skin, at his fingertips, the easy flow of thoughts not scattering around aimlessly. He wants to dash up from his bed, run a lap or two, help out Hank with whatever tedious duty he has, finally properly embrace the woman his cracked heart longs for. Since that halfway embrace days prior, the way she curled to him at night just that one time, it became a constant at the back of his mind, a warm reminder and a burning want for more. She only just got here and he already feels like he’d break thousand times over if she ever left.

And there’s never a clear answer for that. If she’s here to stay-

Or would she take his heart and walk away.

He wouldn’t dare to ask.

Not because he’s afraid as he was back before she left, of tying himself down to someone when that’s not really how it goes – he understands that now – but because he fears exactly what once already happened.

The possible answer spreads cold numbness down to his very bones.

The hollowness in his chest is already enough, he doesn’t want to lose anymore.

It doesn’t stop him from asking other questions, though. He can’t really help himself.

„So, how’s it been all those years? Any news?” He arches a single brow, trying not to show how important the answer really is for him, and Eris smiles, something wistful edging in her violet eyes

„Not much, really,” she says, easily enough, leaning on the bed beside him. There’s a new spark to her eyes and he fears it for the shortest of second, before– „Patrick got himself a boyfriend, though. Year and a half and they’re going strong. They’re awfully adorable too.” She makes a face, nose scrunched up, but it’s clear she’s happy for her little brother.

Well, not so little now. Patrick should be close to his mid twenties by now.

Peter remembers the boy that watched vigilantly over his sister, a narrowed look following him around. How he wishes Patrick’s searching eyes have seen something real, not just an imagination. And how he completely fucked up when it became more close to truth than he was ready for.

„And you?” he asks, because he can’t help himself.

Even though the thought of Eris looking at someone in any way near to how she looked at him back then, smiling and hugging and _so close_ , squeezes painfully hard at his chest, pushing at his lungs and trapping a painful breath under his healing ribs, he shoves it down, because he missed his chance. 

Her smile changes, smaller, out with a sigh as she shakes her head.

„No. Not for long, anyway.”

And he should know it means there wasn’t anyone, but doubt still creeps onto him, heavy in his stomach. A lot can happen in four years, people change. 

He may have been the one just for one nights and hook ups, but she was always committed, forging connections and caring – never judging him, but sure in how it just wasn’t for her, his lifestyle. It terrified him then, the way she warmed up her way inside his heart, under his skin, to his very being, how she smiled at him, looked at him, made him want all of that he thought he’d never be one for, how there was no one else on his mind. 

„And you? Any hearts broken along the way?” she teases him, he can clearly tell by her narrowed eyes, by the curl at one corner of her cherry red mouth, but he still sees the underlying tint in her almost black eyes. They’re too dark, again.

„No,” he answers, truthfully.

He tried, he really did, to forget how she disappeared, how her laugh warmed him up, how her voice _could_ sound, how there was a hole inside his chest wide and deep, always pulsing with something that couldn’t be pushed down. And they were all hot, sexy, beautiful, he may have even recognized he’d have fun, but it just… he didn’t want to. There was no appeal anymore.

„At least not any I could think of.” He almost shrugs, but forces the habit down. 

He can’t shrug that out, he needs her to understand, to see, because as much as his hope was dead all those years, it sparks a burning kind of ache in his chest after what happened this past few days. It will probably fire him up for nothing, burn inside-out and leave ash behind, but it doesn’t care – just festers further at how her pupils dilates just the slightest bit, the violet brightening.

„There wasn’t any willing for the best of the X-Men? Now that I can’t imagine,” she muses, still teasing, but he knows, feels, what lays behind that question.

It’s loaded and he’s surprised she even went there. She was never one for praying, never inquiring about anything that wasn’t even slightly her business. It irked him some back then, because he _wanted_ her to ask, to be interested, until he realized she just was like that, never asking until she was sure she wasn’t overstepping; until she felt she was close enough with the person to ask. So he started to talk – about everything and anything he wanted her to know – and he learned she may not ask, but she always listens.

But now she does and his heart lurches painfully at his cracked ribs. So he puts on a smile, the one she clearly remembers by the way her breath catches, and goes for the nonchalant – and the truth.

„Sweetness, I’m the finest of them all, you bet there were.” The nickname he hasn’t used since she left burns his lips with a fire that can’t be extinguished, before he shrugs and adds: „I guess I just didn’t feel like it.”

He looks up at her, meets her violet eyes and hopes, with all of his shattered being, that she picks up on the unspoken, on the sincerity he tries to pour into his gaze. It must’ve worked because she doesn’t seem surprised at his words, doesn’t react much at all, but her eyes betray her as they always did – all that careful self-control she exudes easily always eluded the way her eyes changed – brighter and shining anew. 

So, his heart thundering in his chest, he asks the one thing he dreads.

„I’m guessing there was someone there for you, though, even if not for long. Care to tell?” He raises a single brow, but makes sure to keep his voice light. He may be burning up inside with the want, _need_ , to hear it, to confirm that the hope that claws at his insides isn’t completely foolish, but he won’t pressure her, won’t pry, he just–

„Not much to tell there,” she says, a low murmur. „I guess I didn’t feel it, too.”

Her eyes are downcast up until the last words when she raises them and a shiver racks his spine at how there’s not much irises there, how the violet is light and shining, so he smiles the one-corner lifted smile she seemed to like years before.

„Seems we’ve been in the same boat then, sweets.”

They don’t come back to the topic, but it’s hard not to notice how the air changes since then.

There’s almost an electric kind of charge around them, sizzling and sparking as their gazes lock, burning a ramrod hot shiver through Peter’s body as their fingers brush in a simple game of cards. He’s still aching all over, his legs barely hold him, the arm is out of the cast but still of no real use, but it all fades into background as his skin tingles and itches with a need that’s much deeper. His mind supplies her scent every moment he strays to the one hug they’ve shared, to the way she was curled up to his side, to how her lips brushed the crown of his head, a ghostly warmth still there. 

There’s no way it isn’t showing in his aura, but he forcefully ignores it and hopes, tries to act normal.

It’s going pretty good until few days into his bedridden state, as Eris is sitting in a chair right beside him, legs tucked in and book in hand, reading aloud in a soft and low tone that soothes something deep and aching in his chest, that another part of his world crashes on his head.

The door hiss open, slow and he barely registers the steps don’t sound like anyone else’s that visits him as Eris looks up from the book.

Her body tenses up, rigid, her fingers curling around the book’s edges – he notices only because he was blatantly staring, and because he’s too accustomed with her body language even after all those years, but why–

Furrowing his brows, Peter turns – and ice freezes the blood in his veins.

Few paces away from his bed, shoulders squared and jaw locked, stands the man he wished to never see again.

Magneto’s looking him over, posture almost as rigid as theirs, something amiss blazing in the cold eyes. 

Tense, packed silence settles around them, thick and grating. Peter’s going stir crazy from the look alone, not counting the ice in his veins, the pounding in his chest, the chasm of questions–

„Long time no see, old man.”

He goes for the casual, nonchalant, but doesn’t quite mask the weariness, the quiver at the ends of his words. 

Erik blinks, his shoulders sagging somehow, and it makes Peter’s brow furrow even more, but the man speaks before he can ponder on it.

„Peter,” he greets with a nod, voice hoarse, but calm. „I wanted to... talk.”

It’s awkward, really, the man looks so out of his element it’s almost funny. But there’s _something_ to his words, an undertone that puts Peter on edge and makes him wonder – but that’s stupid, no way he–

„Sure, dude. Shoot away.”

Erik sends a wary glance Eris’ way and Peter doesn’t have to look to know that the book’s long shut, she’s leaned forward, eyes not straying from Magneto. He can practically feel her around him, somehow, and the chasm in his chest pulses, fires up–

„Perhaps it’d be better just the two of us,” he says, gaze on Eris, and Peter chances only one glance her way. She doesn’t budge. Peter almost grins.

„Nah, man, I’m good. So?”

Erik shifts, clearly not happy with the response. His jaw shuts tighter, muscles working, and Peter’s heart picks up its pace. _No way_ –

Just as Eris moves, sliding to the edge of the chair and closer to him, Erik seems to reach a decision. He turns, eyes sharp, and looks straight at Peter.

„I know.”

The air freezes over. 

No breath, no movement breaks the silence that follows, heavy and stinging, until Peter feels Eris’ hand on his. 

She squeezes lightly, makes his gaze turn to meet hers – there’s a question in the depth of her eyes. An inquiry, but also a reassurance. The warmth from her fingers seeps into his skin, familiar, and Peter nods. She tightens her hold one last time before releasing his hand. 

Something hard and heavy settles in his chest as Eris stands to leave them alone, passing Erik with a pointed look. It’s almost funny, the unusual steel in her eyes and confusion in Magneto's, but it quickly fades into background as the door hiss close.

The atmosphere tenses even more, scorching at Peter’s nerves, so he raises his brows.

„How long?”

There’s really no need to skirt around the topic, the sooner they can be over with this talk the better.

„Since I left.” The words slash right through Peter, even though he thought he was long past caring. He’s not. „Figured it out some time later. You gave me enough clues.” Erik looks almost bashful now, hands visibly tensing at his sides. 

It stings, deep inside, as Peter grits his teeth. 

„I didn’t know that Jean...” Erik’s gaze runs over him, his injuries, eyes steel hard and flashing, and it’s clear what he means. 

It makes something bitter flare up in Peter’s chest, but he shoves it down. 

„Doesn’t matter, old man. ‘s not like you could do anything about it.” His voice is lower and colder than it probably ever was, but that’s all he can manage right now. 

„But _if_ I was here–”

This time he can’t really hold back the bitter laugh that tears and burns his throat. His vision blurs, but he blinks it away. Erik seems almost shocked.

„Please, don’t start on what ifs.”

That seems to shut Magneto up quite well. It also sends Peter straight back to the suburban home, the harshness of raw asphalt, Hank’s warning lectures and the back of a black mustang driving away, he really doesn’t need all of it right now. 

_„_ Anyway, you know, great. Surprise! I guess–” He stops to clear his throat and tries to swallow the frustration down. „So, what do you want?”

Erik’s brow scrunch up as if in confusion.

„I don’t–”

„You knew for years and only now you show up,” he reminds. „So, what is it? Because I’m not joining your brotherhood or whatever, I’m good here, thanks but no thanks.”

„It’s not-” Erik massages his forehead in frustration and it awakes a grim sort of glee in Peter, but he continues after a sigh. „I came to talk with Charles and only found out you almost _died_ , Peter,” he says, his voice straining, gray eyes taking on a new shine that makes the glee evaporate into thin air. He takes a shuddering breath and composes himself. „I just wanted to see– To talk.”

Something loges itself in Peter’s throat, making swallowing considerably harder, but he does anyway, ignoring the chasm opened anew in his chest.

„Why?” It tears itself out before he can stop it. Erik raises his brows. „Why you didn’t come earlier? Why not come when you found out?” His voice is calm, almost devoid of any emotion, but he’s not really able to look at his– at Erik. 

„I thought–” Erik sighs, hand running over the tired look on his voice. „I thought it’d be better this way.”

There’s so much that he’s not saying. Peter hears it as clear as the day – echoing under the words, inside his chest, his minds, his own doubts and thoughts he carries since the day he found out. And Peter’s not cruel enough – or maybe too exhausted – to pry more. 

„Alright,” he says instead, shrugging, and the dawning shock on Erik’s face almost makes him laugh. Peter only relaxes into his pillows, before sending the man a sly look. „So, you and Charles, huh?”

Erik’s barely holding on by this point, quite clearly suppressing a sputtering fit, brows high on his forehead and jaw slack. It takes him a moment before he gathers himself. 

„I came here for him, yes–”

„So you’re leaving,” it’s not a question, not really. But there’s also no bite, no bitterness, nothing, just a fact. Peter’s surprisingly numb. 

Erik clears his throat, putting hands into the pockets of his suit pants, and looks away.

„Yes.” He stops, swallows, his gaze drops. „Hopefully, Charles will come with. He doesn’t want to stay.”

Peter knew the last thing already, Prof told him himself, but it still makes him feel particularly weird – this was Xavier’s school after all, a labor of love and hope, everything he worked for since before Peter even knew him. Yet, that’s not what he needs to focus on. So he hums noncommittally under his breath as he watches Erik stand there awkwardly. 

„Good for you then, old man.” 

And he means it. He may not have spent much time in the presence of both of them, but he heard and saw enough. And he could relate, somehow. 

Erik shifts, nods and looks like he really doesn’t know what to do with himself now. Peter’s happy to let him figure it out, at least for a while, because it’s funny to watch. But it does get boring quite quickly and just as he feels like asking him to leave, Erik speaks up. 

„Who’s the woman?” He turns his head, as if to indicate the door she disappeared behind, a surprisingly honest interest in the gray eyes. „I don’t remember meeting her before.”

„Eris joined after you left,” he says, easily, but now that she’s brought up, he can feel the tension creep right back in, tingling at the edges of his nerves. Erik lowers his head, brows raised, clearly waiting for another answer, and Peter breathes out a deep aching sigh. „She’s... an old friend.”

An understanding flashes in the gray eyes, but Peter’s not looking, his mind already years back, remembering what he tried to lock up in a box and push deep into his mind, to never open again. But it’s been touched, shaken by the past few days, already bleeding through. 

„She seems protective of you.” Erik’s voice sounds considerably softer, but that may be just Peter’s ears. 

„Eris is protective of everyone here,” he says, letting a small smile curl his lips, because it’s true. 

As much as it heats up something fierce in his chest, he knows she’d react the same with Hank or Orroro or the kiddos, or anyone, really. Well, maybe beside the Professor, she’s probably too aware of the weird relationship the two has. Which he doesn’t need to think about. 

„I know you probably don’t need, or want, my advice, but,” Erik begins, a bone deep emotion Peter can’t place shining in his eyes. He almost runs away when the man looks at him. „Don’t wait too long. It’s not worth it.”

The words seem to carve right through his chest, squeeze around Peter’s throat, and he really doesn’t know what to say to that. The situation was bizarre enough already, but getting romantic advice from an ex-terrorist that additionally shares his genes is too much. Fortunately, Erik must have noticed, or he’s just as much thrown, but he turns slightly to the door and gives Peter one last look.

„If you ever need anything,” he says, serious, a steel in his eyes that’s somehow both reassuring and terrifying, „don’t hesitate to ask, Peter. Anything.”

„Sure.” He clears his throat, blinking with a little too much force. „Thanks, dude.”

Erik nods, straightening, his shoulders back and head level, almost no trace of their conversation beside the shine in his eyes. 

„Get well.” Is the last thing he says before turning around and marching out, the door hissing closed behind his tall silhouette. 

Peter breathes out, deflating into the pillows, and feels a tremble begin at the tips of his fingers, a blurriness edge onto his vision. He’s already regretting not asking Erik to send the empath back to him if he met her, when the door hiss again.

Blinking back the fuzziness, he makes out her form hovering at the entrance. 

„Peter?”

„Hi, sweets,” he hates how choked up it sounds, but it makes her move to his side the moment he speaks.

She’s beside his bed in a few strides, eyes looking him over with a focus he came to recognize by now, and he’s reaching out with his right arm before he can think better of it. 

„C’mere?” he asks, barely above whisper, managing not to burn bright red with embarrassment only because there’s too much ringing inside his head right now, too jumbled, too chaotic. 

Eris hesitates for a split second that lasts ages, but as the _please_ is at the tip of his tongue, she moves, sitting near his right hip and carefully lowering herself along his body. It feels as if his heart is beats away from breaking out of his bruised ribs, but he ignores it, loops his arm around her shoulders, trying to coerce her closer, because she’s still hesitating, looking him over as if a mere touch’s gonna make him crumble. 

„Eris, sweetness, you’re not gonna hurt me,” he murmurs and she trembles, as if the words touched on something too painful, makes his brows furrow, makes him want to ask, but then she sighs–

Her body relaxes, shoulders sagging, and she lets him draw her closer, guide her head to his collarbone, arm coiling around her narrow waist. It’s perfect, the way she nuzzles into his shirt, lays her hand above his heart, a familiar enough warmth seeping inside, spreading, searching – he only rolls his eyes at her, always trying to ease the ache, because in truth it wakes up something fierce and hot inside that almost swallows the open chasm. A storm is brewing there, all that locked away longing for more bleeding right through.

He takes a deep breath, nose finally nuzzled deep into the violet mass of her hair, the scent filling his whole world. For now he doesn’t care how it looks, how it’ll feel going forward, how the loss of this is going to split his heart open and shatter his very being yet again. For now he’s content to lay there, with Eris in his arms, breathing her in, soaking in her heat. She doesn’t ask, knows already – he told her, years ago, in the middle of the night – and Peter doesn’t speak for long, too. It’s maybe an hour or two later when it all bleeds out, in a murmured voice and tighter embrace. He ends quickly, eyes dry, Eris shifts even closer. 

And she stays. Until both of them fall asleep. 

True to his word, it takes two weeks of bed rest in the infirmary for Hank to decide that Peter is finally good to go.

Peter’s twitching in his spot, while Hank performs the last checks, the light touches barely registering in his mind. Through most of the past two weeks Eris was always by his side, coming in with food, cards, stories, books that she’d read out loud to him when asked, her low, soft voice soothing, they’d talk for hours or just play a game. It was nice, warm, felt _right._

He’d never dare to entertain a thought that she may stay, that it wasn’t just a short visit to help out, that the expanding of his chest, the thudding of his heart, wasn’t anything but him slowly getting back to health, nothing more, yet – when she didn’t come the day before nor today, it squeezed at his lungs, coiled around his ribcage, threatened to cut off his breath. The bubble started to descend around him again, echoing with past days, past years, with her quiet chuckle and sparkling eyes and the mustang leaving in the distance.

„Peter?”

Hank’s concerned voice cuts through his thick skull, bouncing inside – a low tone, but clear. Thankfully.

„What’s up, doc?” he pipes up, trying to mask the whirlwind of dread and doubts his mind was swimming in. „What’s the verdict?”

The man rounds up his bed to stand in front of Peter, arms crossed over his chest.

„You’re good to go,” Peter makes a fist-bump, celebrating, until Hank follows it with, „but no speeding. At least not for four or five days, a week ideally.”

Peter’s groan is covered up by Hank’s words, but he makes sure to show his displeasure with a grimace, a theatrical and over-the-top one that gets a smile out of the man. _Success_. And he’s almost surprised he finally feels the itch to dash, to just run laps, enjoy the peace and quiet of hyperspeed. He hadn’t felt it in years. But he nods to Hank and promises no speeding. It’ll probably be for the better – both for his health and the gratifying feeling when he’ll finally be able to speed around. Also, he doesn’t want to add to the list of worries Hank has, what with overtaking the school and trying to keep it running.

„I’d like to check on you in few days, but beside that you’re free to go,” Hank adds and Peter almost jumps up, a nervous thrill running through his spine. He throws on his clothes in haste, careful only not to pull something, before barely missing Hank on the way out.

„Thanks, man, you’re the best, owe you!” he says, patting the doc on the shoulder and waltzing right out of the infirmary, Hank’s sigh following him out.

His heart thudding, he sets on a mission of scouting all of the mansion and possible hideouts he knew she liked – the library, the patio, the forest around the lake – and with every location he passes, with no sight of the violet-haired empath, his heart sinks lower and lower, makes his gut raise a bitter bile up his throat. He can’t believe, it’s not–

Eris is nowhere in sight.

Her trusty mustang is gone from the garage and no matter who he asks, no one really knows where she had gone to. His mind doesn’t want to process it, not really, so he pushes it forcefully out of the way, the thought she could– she was–

No, she would surely tell him something, at least. She couldn’t just be gone.

Peter bumps into Hank at the end of the day, the whole Mansion scoured every and each way, the empty hole in his chest a chasm that fumes dread and years of rejected longing, hidden, secured deep inside his brain for so long that now free it reigns a raging storm through his body.

„Hank,” he says, hating how his voice wavers and cracks. Hank lifts his brows in question, but if he’s surprised by Peter’s attitude, he hides it well. „Did you... Have you seen Eris? Like, recently?”

An understanding downs in the doc’s blue eyes, before smoothing out to something intangible, a mix of emotions Peter would love to pick apart on normal day, but now is too preoccupied with his own to bother.

„She left two days ago,” he says, his voice somehow softer than Peter heard in a long time. „I thought she told you.” Hank’s brow crease, confused, but Peter’s whole body goes numb and he doesn’t notice.

„No,” he breathes out, looking away, gulping down whatever clogged his throat, „she didn’t–”

The cold is back again, spreading, crawling over his skin, through his chest, sinking deep, deep into his bones. He feels like he’s about to start shivering when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

„Hey, Peter, look at me.”

He does, but he’s barely comprehending Hank’s face. It’s surprisingly serious.

„Deep breaths. In, out.”

Hank walks him through it a few times, until the cold receded a bit, but the chasm in his chest it too deep to cure it with a simple exercise. Until– 

„She’s going to be back, y’know,” Hank says, his voice a low murmur, and it shocks Peter to his very core.

„How’d you–” Peter’s not even sure what he wants to ask about.

„She told me.” Hanks shrugs, pats him on the shoulder and gives a small smile, something deep and bone cutting shining in his eyes. „It may take a few days, but she should be back soon.”

Peter’s breathing hard, his heart’s ripping apart his chest, blood rushing in his ears, but Hank’s words are the only thing he can focus on. So he nods, feeling the chasm flutter, squirm – it fires up, burning–

_Hope,_ he realizes, it’s like a liquid fire running through his veins. 

But what if–

He cuts the thought at its root. There’s too much and he won’t acknowledge how the wound started bleeding again. He’s older now, knows better. Over-thinking will only paralyze.

That’s why Peter tries to take a deep, wavering breath and get back to his life, the ache in his chest flaring up, coiling like a cord pulled too tight, straining, but he ignores it. No one’s of help in that regard, though, they tell him to rest and relax, and he tries not to let the frustration take over, but it’s easier to focus on it than the fire in his chest. So he’s back to his room and milling about the Mansion where everything seems dulled and numbed down because of all the mess that happened. He has no other option than to wander and pace, run his brain through thousands of scenarios, and try to test his body in normal speed.

The itch to dash is steadily raising under his skin, building up a growing frustration that claws at his aching chest, and maybe that’s because he’s trying to ignore all the other thoughts permeating his mind – the blank spaces in the Mansion, the holes after ones that should be there, the fuming chasm of dread in his chest – but there is something Peter can’t deny.

He’s keeping others at arm’s distance.

Always a secure space between him and the rest, an uneasy feeling brushing his gut whenever someone passes his imaginary border of „safety”, the flashes of invisible force throwing him through pavement. His skin prickles with goosebumps and the need to run off flares up, but he can’t, not yet, he promised.

So he tries to ignore that too. Busies himself with watching over the kiddos, reminding himself they were just that – kids. With extraordinary powers, but still kids.

The feeling eases with time, but he’ll probably stay forever weary of getting too close to sun.

It takes another two days before he hears a roar outside – a deep growl of a motor he dares not hope he really recognizes.

He’s down the stairs and halfway through the foyer, barely resisting the itch to dash, before he almost trips.

A loud meow catches his attention, surely one that shouldn’t be there, and a fluffy black cloud paces his way, promptly crashing into his calves to rub on the dark jeans, the purring a new warmth in his chest.

Ignoring all the scattered, running thoughts he lowers himself into a crouch, hand already reaching for the silky fur. He almost doesn’t believe it’s real until Cassie bends under his petting with a mewl and tries to headbutt him.

Laugh slips out of his chest before he even realizes it’s there.

„Never thought you’d remember me, buddy,” he muses, his cheeks stretched in a grin that’s almost painful.

There’s some shuffling in the background, but before he can tear his gaze away, his heart almost stops at the familiar voice.

„And somehow I knew he’d go right to you.”

There she is, surely, the deep violet tresses loosely braided, ends brushing her hip, pale skin with lots of beauty marks and freckles, light pink on high cheekbones and a warm smile on her lips – real and breathing, definitely not a figment of his imagination. She has a large box under her arm, the smart white shirt stretching over her chest, and his breath catches for the quickest of moments.

„You brought him…”

It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. Slow and unsure, almost as a question. Because in a way it is.

Her smiles twitches into something softer and she places the box beside the staircase.

„Guessed you guys could use some help around here,” she says simply, one shoulder in a shrug, before her eyes narrow fondly. „Couldn’t leave him behind, could I?”

As if on cue, Cassie meows and paces to Eris, rubbing around her calves, purring and pawing at her knee until she bends to scratch him under the chin. It wakes something warm and fuzzy inside his chest.

„You need some help?” he asks instead, raising from his place and gesturing to the box. If she’s moving here, then there must be more, and if there is more, then–

She straightens and looks him over – he wishes it was in a whole different way to the one now, appraising and careful, but _there is_ a spark in her eyes that he can’t really place, as if she saw something she didn’t expect, and it runs like a hot wire against his spine. 

„Should you be helping me?” She asks, not giving him a chance to wonder.

Peter can feel the concern in her words, but pushes away the thoughts that try to latch onto her care – she’d care for anyone in his condition offering her help – and hopes it’s not blatantly clear he’s fishing for an excuse to spend more time in her company.

„If there’s nothing heavier than me, I’m good,” he goes for light, shrugging, before letting a grin onto his lips. „And Hank only said no to speeding, never mentioned anything else.”

Her eyes narrow again, lips twitching, and Peter tries to ignore the way her eyes catch on his grin, because surely it doesn’t mean anything.

„Alright,” she concedes, shushing Cassie away deeper into the mansion, before gesturing him to follow.

So he does, hoping his rapidly beating heart isn’t as loud as it feels thundering in his ears, and steps out of the front entrance into the driveway right after Eris.

The black mustang stands a little off to the right, sunlight glinting off its polished hood. It’s more than ten years old, but still kept in a pristine condition, with a sharp look, roaring impossibly loud – build for power and speed, not transporting possessions, but he can’t really imagine her in any other car. She came to the X-Mansion in it years ago, came back now and it hadn’t changed one bit. And, as much as it was aggressive in its exterior, it suited her elegant and smart way of dressing.

As they step on the gravel, his mind wanders off to the one time she let him drive. The beast roared under his hands, vibrated almost, like it wanted to burst free – and Peter never before felt like an object got him, spoke to his very being. They went for a ride, gone for long hours, and he crossed too many speed limits to count, but Eris was laughing, so bright and wide and warm, the sound ingrained inside his brain, the smile burnt under his eyelids. Songs they played that day, loud and not caring, singing along like no one heard, would be forever marked with those memories, woven into the fabric of time. Week later he panicked, run off, and when he came back, she was the one going away. He watched her mustang roar to life then, caught her eyes in the side-mirror, dark, shadowed – the moment it moved he was out of the X-Mansion grounds.

The sight of her leaving would haunt him forever.

It’s right before his eyes as they step in the car’s way, yet it’s her voice that tears him away from the memories.

„I see you’ve changed your style,” she says, eyeing his all-black ensemble, shirt, jeans and jacket, before looking up with a raised brow to meet his gaze.

There’s a question in her eyes, an invitation, a spark of curiosity that tickles at his chest, but he can only shrug.

„I guess I’ve grown out of the silver phase.” He still has the jackets and snickers, but they’re pushed to the back of the closet, rarely brought out. It’s all blacks and grays for him now. „What, you don’t like my new style, sweets? I personally think the black really brings out my eyes,” he adds, gesturing with a flourish that makes her chuckle and the sound raises a grin to his own lips.

„Oh yeah, it certainly does,” she complies, the teasing edge present in her voice, until she continues. „It suits you... But I liked the silver too. It was quite unique.” She smiles up at him, soft and warm, before the corners of her eyes narrow a bit and the tease is back. „That silver-black jacket was really something. I could wear one like it, should fit with my hair well enough, don’t you think?”

There’s joking tone to her voice, but the thought of seeing her in his jacket sends a ramrod hot shiver straight through his whole body, goosebumps raising on his neck.

It’s an image that fires up his veins, sizzles on his skin, because the more he thinks, the more naughty it looks, and he _won’t_ fuck up like this, because she’ll clearly feel everything–

„Sweetness, you’d absolutely rock that look,” he says instead, meaning it, as they stop by the mustang. „And if I can find it, you get to wear it as much as you want. Hell, keep it. What do you say?”

She hums under her breath, stops and turns to him, leaning on the car with one hip.

„That’s a tempting offer, but it’d probably be too big for me,” she murmurs with a small smile, light, but he can see a strange shine to her eyes. „And won’t you want to wear it again someday? It really looked good on you.”

It’s a simple compliment, one she’d give away on a daily basis to anyone close, but it still squeezes something inside his chest. The jacket reminds him of better days, the first year in the mansion, the times they’ve danced around each other, before it all went to shit, and that’s the reason he doesn’t wear it anymore, the memories hurt, bitter-sweet. But now...

He wets his lips, heart pounding, before he can look back to her.

„Well, sweets, in that case, maybe I will now.”

Her lips curl in the corners as she mirrors him, tongue flicking out over her bottom lip, pulling it right between her teeth and he transfixes on the gesture. He can only process how much _he_ wants to do just that – or pull it free with his thumb, or–

Eris shifts, a slight blush coloring her pale cheeks, and Peter almost rears back with the embarrassment that crawls off his skin. He just gone and fucked up again, because of course he would–

The sound of unlocking the car cuts through his spiraling thoughts and when he looks back, he can see Eris opening the mustang’s side doors.

„Then you can borrow me the jacket from time to time,” she says, light and offhand, but her voice quivers just a bit and his heart thuds louder. Then she gestures to the inside of the car. „There’s more in the back, but not much. I’ve already gotten some of my things here earlier.”

He can see the small boxes and an opened carrier on the passenger side, neatly stacked and placed in a way that wouldn’t make them fall over or disturb while driving. And Peter guesses the trunk in this car can’t really fit much more, so it should be only few trips.

His mind is still ringing with her words, the image of her in his jacket and the thought of how she already somehow settled into the mansion. He tries to suppress the almost painful hope that bursts open inside his chest, but it’s quite possibly helpless. He can still _feel_ her heat from where she stands, closer than she would with others – Peter knows this, got pretty familiar with her limits, with how she needed her personal space, but it still tears and scrambles his thoughts, because surely now, after all those years, after how they parted, she wouldn’t–

„So you’ve got a room already, right?” he asks, just to say something, reaching for the bag to sling it over his shoulder and then takes one more box, trying not to think.

He won’t fuck up this time. He _won’t._

Her room ends up being the same one, still right next to his own at the end of the X-Men’s wing, the inside already feeling lived in, books and journals scattered on the table, blankets spread on the couch, some plants here and there. It’s pretty much the same looking as any room on their floor – a living room sort of space that’s quite spacious and the part with bed to one side, on an elevated floor with slide doors to separate it in the day if someone wanted. There’s a door to the bathroom, big windows and some light colored curtains hanging already. It’s neat and clean – and painfully familiar. 

For about five seconds Peter wonders if maybe Charles orchestrated it on purpose. As a parting „gift” of sorts. But it sounds ridiculous, so he banishes the thought instead focusing back to his task – and not stepping on Cassie in the process.

„And to think I was happy to see you,” he mutters under his breath, balancing the box.

Eris turns her head around, quirking an eyebrow, till she sees the smug looking cat and his face that’s probably making some weird grimace. She chuckles lightly, fond, a sound that’s warm like a blanket on a cold winter evening.

„You’ll get used to it,” she teases with one last look over her shoulder.

_Again_ hangs in the air unsaid, but it closes around his windpipe all the same, just like the weird quirk to her lips as she turns back around.

But Peter only clears his throat and passes the threshold to her room, laying the box next to the one she was carrying.

„I don’t think he’ll follow me around.” Cassie jumps up on the creamy couch and Eris’ eyes turn to him, but only after she gives the cat a half-fond, half-exasperated look. He can’t help the smile. „Orroro’s still here,” he adds, because even then Cassie seemed to like her.

Eris’ mouth twitch a bit, but he can’t really tell why.

„Yeah, but you’re his person too,” she says, a soft, teasing look on her face that almost punches air out of his lungs, and just as it leaves her mouth, Cassie stretches on the arm of the couch near his elbow with a loud meow, demanding more scratches. „See?” She chuckles under her breath.

„Gosh, so demanding,” he muses, but reaches to pet the cat anyway. „I don’t remember him being quite as much.”

„Must’ve missed you, then.”

Her voice sounds lower, softer even, as if she only half-meant to say it aloud, and Peter’s almost afraid to look up. But when he does, her eyes seem faraway for a second, unfocused as she watches his hand petting Cassie, before she blinks and meets his gaze.

It leaves his mouth without thought.

„Did you?”

He wants to dash the moment it left, hot embarrassment burning his cheeks, yet his body seems frozen, unable to move, tear his gaze away as Eris bites her lip.

„I did.”

His heart thuds, beats into his ribs, and the words echo inside his chest, inside the open chasm that never really closed after she left. The cogs turn in his head, churning and rumbling. He can feel the same sentiment burning his throat, but it’s something else that he says.

„You didn’t tell me.” It’s quiet, out on a breath, and hoarse, so much so that he needs to clear his throat. „Why?”

„I don’t know,” she crosses her arms on her stomach, hands embracing elbows, but doesn’t look away, „I guess... I didn’t want it to bring back- to feel too much like a goodbye again.” Her tone’s low now, serious, the hitch in her words squeezing painfully at his chest, and he _gets it_ , he really does. He can’t imagine hearing that she leaves, not again, even if she’d promise to be back. It’d made the chasm twice as aching probably. But now, doubt creeps onto her face. „I should’ve told you, shouldn’t I?”

Peter’s head is reeling, all the feelings swirling inside, a mess that threatens to cut off at his lungs. On a normal occasion, he’d be able to work through them just fine, quicker than it takes to answer, but now there’s too much of them, too tangled, too chaotic, he can’t really focus, time’s running through his fingers like sand– 

He just waves his hand.

„‘S alright, don’t worry, sweets.”

„You thought I left.” It’s not a question, but her voice softens again. He can feel her presence, her heat, as she steps closer. „I’m sorry.”

His throat clogs up again, heart thudding somewhere close to his windpipe. So he clears it, again, and musters enough will to look at Eris, at the light shining violet.

„It’s nothing, really.”

She’s close, _really close,_ he’d only need to lean in a little, shift his weight, and their sides would press together. It’s almost painful, because he knows too well what it means, yet surely it’s impossible, and it tears his insides apart.

Her eyes travel across his body, glinting with something he can’t name, but it’s not what he expected as she asks.

„How are you feeling? Hank told me it was serious.”

Peter almost rolls his eyes. Of course the doc would say something like that.

„You know me, sweets, I’m as good as new,” he smiles, even manages a wink, and although she returns the gesture, her eyes narrows slightly. „Alright, almost as good. But, hey, only because Hank need his _recovery_ time.”

This time Eris rolls her eyes and he counts that as a win.

„He’s probably right,” she says and Peter only smiles sheepishly.

Cassie meows then, loudly, getting both of their attentions. He seems highly unhappy with Peter stopping his petting, but he stretches more to Eris now, pawing at the air in her direction. Peter lifts his brows, curious for what he may want, but Eris seems to get it right away. She reaches her hands out, leaning closer to the cat and immediately Cassie jumps up into her arms.

A startled laugh tears itself out of his throat.

For a second, Eris has face full of black fur, before Cassie settles into her embrace and nuzzles into her neck. It’s adorable, really. The way her lips stretch into a wide smiles echoes with a weird, warm kind of ache inside his chest, just as seeing her face buried in Cassie’s side tingles with ghostly warmth of her breath over his neck. And when she looks up at him, her lips curved, the corners of her eyes crinkled, there’s a spark in the shining violets that makes his heart skip a beat. 

For the first time since he saw her at his bedside he lets himself feel the flaring heat in his body, the breathless hope sprouting in his chest and the cherry-citrus scent that fills his mind.

Slowly, everything settles at the X-Mansion.

Hank’s running the school now, Charles being somewhere off, most probably with the metal bender – which gives him some weird feelings, but he’s not about to unpack them now when he already accepted he doesn’t need the guy in his life – and Scott takes up the X-Men leader mantle without much complaints from anyone. Jubilee joins them, finally, that was long time coming, and Eris takes it upon herself to ease the tension still plaguing these halls, playing with the kids, organizing games and other activities that would take their minds off of past events, so the atmosphere starts to clear.

Peter’s finally able to tap into his hyperspeed, Hank deeming him fit enough, but with a stern reminder not to overextend himself – he rolls his eyes, mutters a _yeah, yeah_ with a grin that he hasn’t felt on his face in a long time and dashes.

He stops halfway through the mansion, almost crashing into the wall, heart pounding and breath short. Barely crossing even one fifth of his normal speed, elated, grinning and laughing, he barely missed a twelve year old boy by a mere inches – it punched panic into his guts, making him skid to a harsh stop just around the corner. For a split second, debris was falling around him and the boy had fiery hair – a flash, there and gone in a blink.

He takes a deep breath, steels himself and taps into his speed again. Carefully maneuvering around mutants he’s able to run right through the Mansion and to the garden, stopping at the edge to take another long inhale. Eris’s sitting under the shade of a large apple tree, book in hand and Cassie strewn over her lap. Heart still beating furiously, he stirs his steps her way and counts it as a win nonetheless. He has all the time in the world to build up to his normal speed anyway.

The school year takes off, Peter gets back to teaching PE – because it’s the only thing he’s somehow qualified to teach and it uses up his time – running errands around the mansion and being the comic relief to the tense, heavy air that still lingers. He’s also the one to take up combat and hand-to-hand training after Raven – his throat still clogs painfully as he stands where she should – and he’s the most surprised of them all when Hank announces him the proposition.

„You’re the oldest of the X-Men–”

„Jeez, man, thanks for the reminder–”

„– beside me, Peter, so you had the most training,” Hank says and Peter can’t really argue his point, he did train the most, he had the time. „And I trust you with them.”

Peter’s breath gets caught somewhere in his lungs, but he masks it with an awkward laugh.

„Dude,” he chokes, clears his throat and sees a warm smile on Hank’s face – that’s enough, really. „Alright, man, but if I’ll train an army of mutant ninja kiddos, that’s on you,” he points, grinning, but Hank rolls his eyes and everything feels surprisingly light, _right,_ somehow.

Still, in a few weeks, he decides, he’s gonna take Scott or Orroro and show them the ropes. The more training teachers, the better. They can be his prodigies for awhile, before starting their own lessons (Hank approves, though there’s a knowing spark in his eyes – they both thread as they can), and it lessens the hollow ache of _wrong_ as he stands at the front of the class. All of them will carry the legacy.

Eris finds him the same evening he agreed, the rumor already spread through all of the Mansion, as he lifts weights in the underground X-Men gym. She comes to train too, obviously, but he allows himself to indulge on the way her eyes caught him across the room – her steps shifting in the same second.

There’s a pink flush on her cheeks already, ruffled little hairs framing her face, either from a run or a dancing session – he didn’t have the courage to wander into one of the latter, not yet.

„Want to impress your new students?” she teases, looking him up as she stands near.

His tank top and hair are already damp, he’s been here for hours now, but still has more in his body. Perks of all the side-mutations. And he can confidently say that at least in this area, he looks better than ever – again, he had time to improve. So he chuckles and puts down the bar, the set finished.

„The whole Mansion already knows, huh?” He grins, pushing his hair back, and notices her eyes following the motion.

„Yeah, and some are really _excited_ to train with you,” she says, low, her lips curling, but her eyes sparkle in a way that tingles at his skin.

His mind supplies the image of Eris coming to train with him and he swallows, chuckling to hide the clear spike of excitement that must have shown itself in his energy.

„Tough luck, then, I’m going to train _them,_ not with them. I’m already the best, don’t need to.”

Eris rolls her eyes fondly, looking away with a smile, but the image still swims behind his eyelids, heating up his already hot skin. It’s dangerous, the mere thought of it, yet he can’t help himself.

„Though... Would you want to? Train with me?” he asks, voice lowering and almost out of breath.

Eris shifts, hands brushing upper arms, a nervous tick he recognizes, and he _knows_ she never wanted to, staying as far away from any combat as she could, yet the helpless hope skips a beat of his heart.

„It crossed my mind,” she admits in a murmur, looking up with a somehow faraway look in her eyes.

„I’m honored, sweets,” he says, voice half out of breath, letting the softest smile he can manage on his lips. „I could find us a quiet hour, some empty spot, no eyes watching. _If_ you decided to go for it, of course, no pressure.”

Her mouth curl in a relieved, warm kind of smile and Peter’s heart squeezes in his chest.

„Thank you,” she says, a tender murmur, before straightening. „‘mind if I join you now?” She gestures to the gym and he can’t help the grin.

They stay there for an hour more, trading light stories, workout tips and looks that coil in his stomach with a low heat. Peter helps her out a few times with some weights, she leads the stretching after and with beads of sweat trailing down their necks, they go back to their rooms, shoulder to shoulder, exchanging soft, somehow awkward smiles of goodbyes at the doors.

Peter enters his room with a flush on his cheeks that’s only partly from the workout and swallows down the nervousness that builds inside his chest, fluttering and tickling at his ribs. It’s awfully familiar, intertwined with want that’s deeply rooted to the core of his spine and fear settled in his lungs. He lets himself a second of dwelling with a sticky forehead leaned on the door, a run of helpless fantasies and shaky memories under his eyelids, before he gets into the shower. For the first time in years he shakes and gasps and muffles his groans, his whole body flushed, tender and simmering still even after he steps out. Later, when he buries himself under the covers, he’ll think of the sparkling violet and dream of late movie nights, blankets, heavy breaths and the mansion disappearing on the horizon.

Then, weeks later, Patrick comes to visit.

Peter has no idea if it’s Eris’ doing or if the guy just decided to randomly show up, but he’s only half surprised. The pyrokinetic would fit in with the X-Men like a missing puzzle and brings into the Mansion a new kind of excitement that gives all of them a little reprieve to relax.

He’s staying for the weekend, claims to just want to visit his sister – she rolls her eyes at him, a strange tense set to her shoulder – but gives Peter a quick look that’s more telling than anything he says. And even though the school year is already in a full swing all of the X-Men clear their schedule for the Saturday evening, so they can sit and just chat around, enjoying some food and drinks.

A nice kind of lazy, relaxed aura settles in the room – stark contrast to the constant tension and buzzing, but such a welcome one, that it doesn’t seem to aggravate anyone.

Scott’s chatting up Patrick in a corner, Jubilee and Kurt listening on the conversation, joining up or talking quietly to each other, and Peter’s pretty sure the laser boy is trying to feel out if the pyrokinetic is interested in joining them. Opposite at the sofa Eris sits with Orroro, Hank leaning in with a glass of scotch in hand, looking more at ease and interested in the topic than ever in those past days. Peter’s sure they’re discussing the greenhouse.

Eris pitched the idea few days earlier, saying it’d be good for the kids to have some new chores and things to care about. She was clearly happy to take it on herself, but – unsurprisingly – Orroro all but jumped on the idea, clear enthusiasm and full attention, then – surprisingly – Scott came second, declaring he’s happy to help with that stoic calm determination he exuded lately, Kurt lighted up like a kid that got a present and Jubilee declared her help in building, but nothing else – „I can’t even care for a potted plant,” she said. Peter just stood there, between his friends, mind only processing the way Eris’ face lit up, till she looked at him with that hopeful, tender gaze and he would swear he’ll build it himself if he had to, but the only thing that left his mouth was a weak „sure” and a joke about how long it’d take them to build it without him. Just day later Hank got a whiff of the idea and even though all of them declared he doesn’t have to worry about it, Hank got involved anyway, looking like it’s the first thing in weeks that made him genuinely happy to be there.

It’s nice, Peter decides. Calm. 

Content.

He takes a slow swing from his bottle, the beer a little bitter, and watches the scene from his place, perched on the kitchen island that separates it from the common room, but his eyes stray to Eris, as they always do. A soft looking dress, light gray and hugging her hips, and a blue, loose sweater contrasts nicely with her dark hair, shining violet even in the dimmed light from the fireplace, unusually not braided, falling over her shoulder to brush her thighs. He thinks idly about how would they feel between his fingers, when someone leans on the island beside him.

Peter’s frustration lasts only a second before he notices it’s Patrick.

A beer bottle in hand, shoulders relaxed and eyes on his sister, he perches himself to Peter’s left. There’s a thoughtful expression on his face even when they clink their bottles in a way of greeting. Peter has a pretty good idea what’s it about and dread settles in his belly – but he has already decided he’s done with his old games, so he ignores it and speaks up.

„What’s up, man? Got bored with Scotty boy there?” Patrick snickers into his bottle and Peter counts it as a win. „Let me guess, he tried to recruit you?” he asks, his mouth forming a light smirk as he looks at the younger boy.

„No.” Patrick squints, a humorous slant to his mouth. „At least, not yet.”

They both chuckle and Peter allows himself a quick second to ponder how mind-boggling it is. He clearly remembers how Patrick couldn’t stand him the first few times they’ve met – and he can’t blame the boy, he was much more annoyingly all over the place and Patrick had some anger issues, so they clashed a lot. They finally got along when the teenager came for one summer break, bonding over video games, music and snarky banter. It wasn’t brotherly bond, not by far, they’ve known each other only shortly, but on times Peter thought it was close.

And now, for the first time, Peter already over the thirty threshold and Patrick in his mid twenties, he’s nervous in the boy’s presence. There’s an awareness surrounding them that the speedster isn’t yet ready to address, so, as always, he deflects.

„You ever thought about it?” he asks, quirking a brow.

„About what? Becoming an X-Men?”

Peter only nods, taking a swing from his beer, already halfway through.

„I did, few years ago, but...” Patrick shrugs, looking over the other mutants in the common room. „Maybe if I lived here, I would. But now? I’m happy in college and I wouldn’t want to leave Marcus alone, waiting for me to not come back. It’s just not worth it.”

Peter looks away, heart constricting inside his chest.

Patrick’s words hit something and Peter doesn’t like it one bit – because he already thought about it, years ago, and it’s been coming back since then, but still... He wouldn’t be able to walk away from the X-Men, they gave him purpose, an opportunity to be something, _do_ something, and he needed that, _liked_ to have a clear path, liked helping in a way others couldn’t. And when his eyes land on Eris, his chest tightens in a steel like grip of understanding.

„She’s happier here.”

The words almost make Peter choke on his beer.

„What do you mean?” he manages, low and a little more hoarse than he’d like, but averts his eyes from Eris to see Patrick’s face with a you-know-exactly-what-I-mean kind of look.

„She wanted to come back here months ago,” he says instead of answering and Peter’s gaze falls back to the empath, still engrossed in a conversation with Orroro, heart thudding almost painfully against his ribs. „Never told us, of course, but it’s easy to tell. It was clear all along she was happier here and since mom got better she had no more excuses to not come. But she wouldn’t, even though we’ve been trying to encourage her to.” He sounds clearly frustrated, but it’s the words that make Peter look up with surprise.

„You did?”

„Yeah, she just wouldn’t budge. Like she was afraid or something. Wouldn’t tell us why.” He shakes his head, sighs and looks straight at Peter, his golden-brown eyes fiery, yet calm. „Hank’s call got her to come back.”

Peter exhales quietly, resisting the urge to pinch his eyes closed and swear. Instead he looks over to the man in question and finds his eyes already on him. Furrowing his brows, he mouths a _fuck you_ Hank’s way and gets an innocently raised brow in response – the smile gives him away though, he definitely did that on purpose. Peter should probably thank the man, but now he can only make a face and turn back to Patrick.

„Do you know what he told her?” he asks, but it lodges around his throat, squeezes at his lungs, and he can’t keep his eyes away from Eris, her sharp profile and broad smile.

„Yeah, I overheard.” Patrick sounds unashamed, but there’s something else in his voice that makes a shiver run up Peter’s spine.

„What was it?”

„That you were barely alive.”

Peter’s breath hitches and he tips the bottle up to drain it.

„Hank was being dramatic,” he says, barely managing not to choke on the words and busies himself with replacing the beer with a new one. „And I’m tougher than that, speedy healing and all.”

„Maybe.” Patrick shrugs and drains his own drink. „Grab me one too?”

„Sure.”

Peter uncaps two new bottles, hands one to Patrick and leans back in his place. He’s halfway through a swing, when–

„To be honest, I’d prefer you to the other guy.”

This time he’s sure Patrick waited for him to take a swing and see Peter choke – he didn’t, but it was a close call. The only saving grace that’s granted to Peter is that Eris seems not to notice the commotion, still totally engrossed in whatever she’s talking about with Orroro and Hank. It’s probably still the greenhouse.

„Woah, Flamy my man, let me stop you right there,” he aims for a dramatic joke, leaning back and laying a hand over his heart, „I mean, I’m flattered, but more of that and I’m gonna blush.”

Patrick shoves him playfully on the shoulder and Peter exhales with relief.

His heart is still thudding almost painfully against his ribs, his skin tingles and there’s a burning curiosity licking at his chest, but the situation is bizarre enough without him freaking out, so he tries to tone it down, drown it in a few gulps of beer that bites at his tongue. Still, in the quiet that follows, his mind’s screaming too loud for him to dial it back fully, so–

„The other guy, huh?”

Patrick throws him a look that’s so flat and unimpressed that Peter’s honestly more proud than anything else.

„And why don’t you ask Eris about that, hm?” The lil’ shit says, gives him one more meaningful look and saunters off back to Scott, leaving Peter to his empty bottle and blood rushing in his ears.

It’s almost a week later when Peter finally gathers enough courage to maybe broach the subject.

Patrick left on Sunday evening, giving one long look to Peter and saying a quick goodbye to Eris, a thoughtful expression on her face after they took a stroll around the Mansion. Peter can only guess what it was about – the empath wouldn’t talk to him until the next day, back to her self control and soft smiles – but now every time they meet something heavy and electric seems to permeate the air and the way her gaze flits over him, the way she bites into her lips makes shivers run up his spine. Peter is on the edge of his own self control when he finally finds her.

Pretty much everyone in the Mansion is already back to their rooms, getting to sleep, sun long gone and the dark brightened only by a half full moon and some twinkling stars. She’s sitting on a cushioned bench outside on the patio, Cassie curled on her lap and purring loudly in the otherwise quiet night, while her hand runs smoothly over his black fur.

Peter’s a pace away when Eris turns to him, no surprise in her face. 

„Hey there,” she says, a low murmur and a light smile barely playing on her lips. She probably felt him coming since he passed the door.

„Hey, sweets.” His heart thuds louder, but he swallows the gulp in his throat and comes to stand beside her. „The seat taken?” He quirks an eyebrow, trying not to get distracted by the way she wets her lips.

A low hum leaves her throat and she pats the seat next to her.

„Saved just for you, sleepyhead.” There’s a teasing edge to her voice that makes him snort as he sits down.

„I’m touched you still remember, sweetness,” he muses, only half aware he’s letting his tongue run without much thought.

„And how could I not?”

Peter’s heart jumps and he can’t help himself. Leaning on the backrest, trying to look relaxed, he turns to Eris, meets her gaze, and it’s clear she’s thinking the same thing.

How many times they’ve found themselves in similar situations, all those years ago. Peter not needing much sleep at all, bored, and Eris staying up late to unwind, clear her head and settle, because there was too much going on in the Mansion and she was one of the few that at times got really affected by that – a sensory overload she called it, when everything was dialed too high up. A possible nightmare for an empath as sensitive as her and yet–

She’s here again.

„Right,” he snorts, unconsciously licking at his lower lip, „I did always get in your hair back then, didn’t I?”

„Just a little,” her lips curl up, eyes lightly pinched in the corners, and it warms up something fierce inside his chest, „but I didn’t mind.” Eris doesn’t look away as she says it. 

The heat over his heart expands so much he shifts closer without even noticing. 

„I still don’t get it,” he breaths out, head shaking. “My aura should be a nightmare to you.”

He can still remember how she was at least half annoyed at their first meeting, her eyes fleeting over him, assessing, maybe just a bit curious. And at first he didn’t think of her much too – yeah, she was quite pretty, but with all the self control she exuded, with the eloquent and elegant way she held herself, he’d think they’d clash horribly – yet only a few late at night or just as sun was raising meetings later he found himself wanting her to like him. Behind that aloof look was a woman that laughed at his jokes, teased him back and seemed to enjoy their banter, the smile on her lips full and lighting up all of her face, warm and inviting. 

Looking at her now, he sees the same woman, a sharp look and soft smile, and remembers how she told him his energy was one of the few she felt comfortable around. It made his breath stop in his lungs back then, made his insides constrict in both joy and panic. Now it lodges itself in his chest, tightens around his heart, nervous, excited, but instead of wanting to run away, he wants to run straight to her. Yeah, he didn’t get it then, doesn’t get it still, but he doesn’t need to. 

„Maybe at first,” she says, bringing him back to the conversation, her tone thoughtful as her eyes trail over him, distant and focused at the same time. „It is unique, powerful, vibrant, reflects you quite well,” she muses, her lips twitching upward, and Peter has only half a mind not to lean in as his heart wants to burst free. „And when I got used to it, I realized why your energy doesn’t quite match others. Its vibrations... they’re almost like a low hum.”

Cassie shifts, blinks up at him, mewls once and stretches over to reach his lap.

„Or like purring,” she adds, watching the cat with amused gaze.

His heart lunges at his ribs, fervent and erratic, nerves starting to tingle at the edges, burning up. 

„Well, shoot, sweets, how am I supposed to answer to that?”

Cassie meows at him again, interrupting whatever Eris may have wanted to say, so he stretches his arm to scratch him under the chin. He’s painfully aware they haven’t been that close since he got out of the infirmary bed and their shoulders brush.

Peter’s only in a simple black tee, because it’s a really warm night, and Eris has forgone a sweater too, wearing only one of her figure hugging, soft dresses, arms and collarbones exposed. Their arms brush, skin on skin, and the contact coils a heat in his belly that’s so surprising he barely bites back a hitched breath. It’d be embarrassing if not for the way Eris shivers beside him. When his head almost whips to look down to her, she’s still looking at Cassie, but her eyes are half lidded, lips parted and hand stilled in the black fur.

„Eris– “ It leaves on a single breath, low and hoarse, his eyes catching on the way she bit into her lower lips.

They both jump at the high mewl.

Cassie looks them over with glowing eyes that seem too intelligent to belong to a cat, before he purrs lowly and jumps to the ground, disappearing in the Mansion behind. Both of them follow his departure, brows raised. When Peter turns back to Eris, she’s fiddling with the ends of her long, violet tresses, eyes trailing somewhere distant, unfocused. He knows they both get trapped in their own heads sometimes and it’s not what he wants now, not when he’s so close.

„Eris?” he tries again, shifting in his seat.

Eris blinks, takes in a breath and when she looks back to him, there’s an apologetic glint in her eyes.

„Sorry–”

„No worries, sweets,” he gently cuts in, smiling, and something eases in her shoulders. „Anyway,” he gulps down the tightness in his throat, „care for a walk?”

There’s no way he could get it out sitting, he’s already feeling twitchy and needs to walk off at least some of his nervous energy before he can get to what is plaguing his mind. He’ll probably won’t have a better opportunity.

Eris trails her gaze over his face, and Peter fights to stay collected even though his aura is probably screaming with everything he’s feeling right now. It must be less off-putting than he’s feeling, because her lips curl the tiniest bit and she draws some of the hair behind one ear.

„Sure.”

The grounds around the Mansion are vast and mostly untouched – a nice park like area surrounds it, with benches and spaces for studying, then it stretches into fields and a forest that contains a large lake. On normal days it’s full of students, relaxing or playing, but on quiet nights like this one, it’s calm and serene, only the lightest of winds brushing through the trees, sounds of animals scurrying in the distance.

They’re talking idly about pretty much everything and nothing – the greenhouse that’s slowly getting planned, the supplies to arrive in few days, the kiddos that follow them around, anything that comes to mind. It’s an easy flow, the familiarity settles right under the heart with a pull that tightens and squeezes, and makes them drift closer with each step.

Peter’s hyperaware of the fact that they’re walking side to side, arms brushing, and even though she’s quite shorter than him, reaching only to his chin, the contact still coils a heavy heat in his body. The thought about how easy it’d be to just sneak his arm around her shoulders rolls around in his head every few paces, but it’s not enough to empower the one thing that weights on his mind since Patrick’s visit. Eris certainly noticed, it’s there in her dark eyes, the awareness right beside the easy softness, and when they come to the edge of the forest, their voices slipping to a quiet hush, the moon shining a bright light over them, playing in her violet tresses, she leans back on a wide bark of an old tree and makes him stop.

„There’s something on your mind.”

It’s not a question, but there’s also no pressure in it, just a simple sentence – a murmur and an invitation.

Peter’s reminded of how rarely she asks, but always listens.

It’s probably his only chance to take the plunge – the real one. His heart thuds heavier, beats into his ribs, and he tries to tone down his twitching, hands deep in his jeans pockets as he stops beside her, shoulder leaning on the very same tree. She turns almost in sync to look up to him easier and the awareness of how close they are pricks at his skin. The pull under his chest gets even worse.

„I don’t want to pry,” he begins, clearing his throat when it constricts around the words, „and you don’t have to answer, obviously, just... after our talk in the infirmary, about people and going out and breaking hearts, all that, you know. I’ve been wondering–” He runs out of breath for a second and risks a quick glance Eris’ way – her attention is fully on him, eyes shining, leaned in closer – it makes him bold enough to finish. „If there’s somebody out there, waiting for you?”

It’s clearly not the question she expected. Her dark eyebrows raise, furrowed, but it’s more confused than anything else.

„What do you mean?”

Peter takes one hand out of his jeans to run it through the silver tresses, trying to ease some of the tension that tightens his shoulders. 

„Well, Patrick may have mentioned some other guy.” He shrugs, but can’t quite meet her gaze, his face starting to heat up. She seems even more surprised now.

„Really? What did he tell you?” Her voice is even, calm, with just a tinge of curiosity and some exasperation, like she was half-expecting it from her brother.

He’s almost wishing he could fall under the earth and never come back, but he decided to take the plunge, so now he just needs to reach the surface and not choke on the way up.

„Not much. Just to ask you, sweets, but as I said, y’know, you don’t have to answer, it’s not my bussiness-”

„No, it’s not that,” she shakes her head, interrupting his rambling, arms coming up to cross on her middle, „I’m just surprised Patrick said anything, he didn’t really... like him.” She shrugs, nipping at her bottom lip in a way that makes his fingers twitch with effort not to reach and release it.

„And do you know why?” he blurts, burning with a twisted kind of curiosity that both settles dread in his stomach and sprouts his hope even higher.

Eris shifts, looking away, past his shoulder, and her chest lifts with a quiet sigh.

„I guess he thought Remy was a player,” she says on an exhale, leaning more heavily on the tree. „He wasn’t, though. A huge flirt, yes,” her gaze flicks to him, lips twitching up and Peter ruffles his hair nervously again, face burning, „but a gentleman, kind and caring. A good man.”

The way she ends her sentence, soft and warm, eyes not straying away, makes his heart flutter faster – it waters the hope sprouting inside his chest, helplessly latching onto anything to make it grow. So he asks:

„Is he the one waiting?”

And doesn’t look away.

„Would I be here if it was the case?” she murmurs back, eyes tracing his face with a careful, tender gaze that makes his lungs squeeze and burn, robs him of his breath, until she continues: „No, he’s not, I wasn’t feeling it. I suppose he could provide distraction, but he was clearly looking for one himself, nothing more. You know it’s not what I look for, so–” She cuts it with a half-shrug, distracted gaze trailing somewhere around his chest

Peter’s simultaneously feeling overcome with both panic and curiosity at what she may see in his aura, but her voice is breathy, just slightly quivering, she’s leaned on her right shoulder, so close, and he can’t resist the heat coiling just under his ribs, pulling and pulling and _pulling_ –

„I’m not,” he manages, low and raspy, eyes locked on her, already moving without noticing.

She looks up, shifts, the heat of her body reaching to him, tingling over his skin, and the moon makes her violet eyes sparkle, pupils almost swallowing any color there is.

„You’re not what?” she whispers, wind almost carrying it away.

„Looking for distractions.” 

The words are out in an exhale, uncoiling something hot and sizzling in his veins at the way her lips part, arms loosening. He’s crossing the half-pace long space left between them before he can think about it.

„Not anymore.” 

Eris shifts back against the tree, his arms lift to rest around her shoulders, their chests only a hair breadth away. Her hands land above his heart and it thuds as if wanting to jump into them. 

„Not since _you._ ”

He doesn’t know who moved first, but they meet right in the middle. Her lips are soft, but her fingers tighten on his shirt and bring him closer, pulling their bodies flush together, her heat slithering right under his skin, burning up into his veins. Peter’s fully leaning on his left arm, right hand cradling her neck, fingers brushing high into her hair – a shiver racks her body and reverberates through him with a soft, trapped noise. Their mouth part on instinct–

A moans slips from her lips, burns and vibrates through his body with a ramrod hot shiver that tears a low groan from his throat, swallowed by the kiss.

It’s almost desperate _,_ messy _, hungry, (_ hot and wet, tongue, teeth,) like they’ve been starving for it through years, like it’s going to kill them if it ever ends.

They’re as close as it’s possible, tight, bodies moving together, every graze lightning up a fire that’s been waiting to burn for _so fucking long_. And Peter’s more than happy to turn to ash.

Eris pulls away with a gasp, out of breath, but her hands flex on his chest, her leg hooks over his and he’s curling even lover, lips latching on the pale skin of her throat, trailing over her quiet whimpers, leaving heated, open mouthed kisses that will bruise. His hand falls from the bark to her hip, grips tight, pulls – and she rolls right into him. The motion burns in his veins, leaves a moan on his lips and it takes all of his will not combust right in the spot.

Her fingers travel higher, thread through his hair and _grip,_ pulling his head up _._

He’s never run out of breath in his life, but now, as he looks up to her, Peter’s straight up _panting._

Her eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown all the way, just a sliver of violet burning up, and her breathe is just as heavy, but when he wants to devour that kiss-swollen mouth again, she keeps her grip steady.

„Take me, Peter.” 

The words rack through his body, shake him right to his very core, crackling in his blood like an electric wire, rip a weak, keening noise from his chest and make him throb painfully against her belly. And when their foreheads lean against each other– 

„My room or yours, I don’t care.”

„Eris-” Her name dies on his tongue, raspy, hoarse, _pleading,_ because he needs to be sure, because he doesn’t want to fuck this up again, and the coiled, overpowering _need_ for her is not helping him think straight.

„It’s alright,” she breathes, soothes her fingers through his hair. „I want this. _Peter_ , I want _you_ , please _-”_

„Hold on,” is all he can choke out, his name in her breathy voice filling his mind, before he sweeps her up in his arm and dashes.

He’s careful not to speed up too much, but still takes them to the Mansion and up into her room – because he could take her to his bed, and he wanted it badly, but it was her choice and her space – doors locked in a blink. Carefully, he lays her on the bed, shuts the sliding door that separate it from the rest of the room, and is right by her side before he forces himself to step out of the hyperspeed.

Eris blinks, a noise trapped in her throat, and he grimaces a bit, because of course the speed would affect her even if he hoped it wouldn’t.

But she shifts to him, eyes pinched close, and the realization strikes him. 

Stripping his shirt off, he straddles her hips in one move, reaches for her hand and places it right above his heart as he leans on his other hand.

„Take it,” he breathes out, shuddering at how her warm fingers spread over his skin, soft and smooth. She looks up, lids barely lifted, questioning, and he tightens his grip on her hand just a bit more. „It’s alright. Please, Eris–” he’s echoing her own words, but he’s not even aware of it, because she exhales and his breath catches.

Warmth spreads from her fingers, slipping over, under his skin, coils in his chest, under her hand, snaps _something_ into place – something that pulls and pulls and pulls, pouring hot into his belly, flexes his muscles and makes him shudder.

Eris takes a long breath and when she opens her eyes, vibrant violet ring around a fat pupil, he realizes–

It’s going both ways.

Peter shivers, knowing the heat enveloping him is not _only_ his, but few second in Eris moves her hand and then she’s reaching up–

He falls into her like it’s where he belongs, the thread that somehow connects them pulsates, throbbing in his groin, as he leans in and moans into her mouth. Doesn’t care how he sounds, cares only how her body responds to it with a delightful shiver, how she pulls him closer and nips at his bottom lip, teeth sinking in almost painfully. It’s the second kiss they share and it’s nowhere less intense, it burns at his mouth, spreads heat through his body, pulls closer – it’s too much, yet not nearly enough–

His mind’s spinning, her taste, her moans, the heat she radiates the only thoughts in his head beside the insistent _more._

There’s too much space between them, too many layers. Peter wants, _needs_ her all over him. Shifting, he pulls away, knee nudging her legs apart, nestling himself right between her thighs – he rolls his hips, Eris body tilts right with him and a groan slips from his tongue, echoed deep in her throat. He’s already reaching for the edge of her dress as she locks her calves at his lower back, squeezes and pulls his head up by a firm grip in the silver tresses.

Her skin is smooth and warm under his fingertips, a trickle echo of sensation traveling against his own as he pushes the hem up and up, the plains of her body pale, soft, pliant. The kiss is messy, urgent, because trying to get the clothes off and stay flush together is quite possibly a disaster, but neither of them care.

Peter’s finally dragging the dress up, straightens to push it off, letting it fall somewhere on the floor. Eris curves higher and with a start he realizes she wore no bra as her body slides against his, all deliciously bare, hot skin – he bites his lip trying to quiet the deep moans inside his throat.

Their hips grind together, jeans against a slip of lace, rolling in sync, chest to chest – it’s burning and sizzling, but it’s _not enough_.

He’s pretty sure this kind of want, _need,_ is going to destroy him, but he’d gladly let it if he can spend his last moments in Eris’ tight embrace.

„ _Peter_ ,” she breathes out and he bites into her shoulder, soothes it out with his tongues, before trailing lower, lower–

„Want to taste you, sweetness,” he mumbles against her belly button, nibbling at the skin.

Eris shudders, her fingers tight in his hair, and exhales a long breath before nodding. The heat in his gut flares, jerking, and he slides lower on the bed, hooks his fingers under the slip of a panties, pulls–

He’s pushing her thighs apart and licking a long stripe up her slit before he can blink.

A low rumble of groan leaves his chest. He inhales, the sweet, musky scent, the taste hitting him, feeling like a drug high, and her hips buckle against his mouth as a low, keening noise reaches his ears. He’d make a cheeky comment some other time, but he has half a mind to even care about his own throbbing want as she pulls at his hair, so he sneaks one arm under her thigh and over her hips, pins them to the bed, sucks on her clit and pushes two fingers into her heat.

Something _coils_ in him, low in his abdomen, shakes his whole body, makes him pinch his eyes close, moan around her heat– 

Eris stills for a split second, breath caught, before a long, whined moan slips down her lips and her body rocks in his hold, _shatters_ – her fingers flex in his hair, she’s tensing, body shaking _, pulsating_ around his fingers, light, keening noises, heavy breaths feeling the air and Peter’s whole body strings tight like a cord, tense with a groan trapped inside his lungs. Because she just came, on his mouth, _hard,_ and he _felt it._ No, feels it still _,_ flaring through his core, simmering, throbbing almost painfully– 

She’s breathing hard as she quiets, calms, and Peter looks up, retracts his mouth, because he can’t be sure if she’s not overstimulated, but curls his fingers just a bit, searching for the spot.

„Everything good?” he asks, voice a low rasp, and smoothes his thumb over her hipbone. 

Eris nods, a light chuckle leaving her lips – it cuts into a moan as he finds it, the spongy texture under his fingertips.

„Oh, God–”

He can’t help the grin, but a remark dies on his lips as she pulls on his hair and he follows, up and up, until their lips crash in a spine melting kiss that makes him almost forget what he’s supposed to be doing.

„Need to prep you, babe,” he mumbles into her mouth, but she’s already locking her legs around his, hips buckling against his hand.

„Then do it quickly,” she breathes out, lips already trailing along his neck, little bites here and there, nails racking at his shoulder blades in a delightful kind of torture. „I want _you_ , Peter.”

They way his name drips from her lips almost make him crash his whole body weight onto her.

It’s not fair.

„God damn it, sweets.”

Her hands trail lower, fingernails scratching lightly at his tensing muscles, and he grits his teeth as he slips at third finger in, the tightness making him throb and smother a groan in the crook of her neck. Just as Peter’s considering maybe coaxing her to a second orgasm, Eris reaches down, cutting it short as she unbuckles his belt, sneaks her hand in and around him, smooth, warm, giving a light pull. His hips jerk into her, a hot spike of pleasure ripping at his muscles.

„Babe–”

„I’m ready.”

He’s pulling away, stripping and getting the condom on before she can get a full breath, nestled back between her thighs in a second. Eris only blinks and pulls him closer, legs closing around his hips.

His heart thuds in his chest, beating against his ribs almost painfully, his lungs give a tight squeeze and for a moment he’s overwhelmed – then there’s a hand threading lightly through his hair, soothing patterns on his shoulder, soft and tender, and he falls onto his arm, rests his forehead against hers, their gazes meet–

He pushes in with an exhale, a tremble racking his body with a force that strains his muscles, tears at the edges of what’s left of his self-control. Eris curves to his body, a whimper coloring her swollen, cherry red lips and Peter leans in to kiss it away, taste the sound of her moan. Their hips join, flush, as his lips glide against hers, part them, lick into her mouth (slow, deliberate)–

Something’s burning inside his chest, behind his eyes.

Her heat seeps under his skin, through his body, inside his very bone marrow.

He breathes out. _Finally_. 

She’s all over him; cherry and citrus scent in his nose, salty and sweet taste on his tongue, smooth skin pressed as tight against his own as possible, an echo of want, need, longing, _home_.

He cradles her cheek just as her arm slides around his waist, keeping him close, and the kiss breaks. His forehead resting against her, gaze locked on her half-lidded eyes, he pulls his hips away, slowly, _slowly_ , stops almost all out, then pushes right back in – they both release an almost wounded kind of moan, deep in their chests, thin, mixed between their lips. Coiled heat tightens in his gut, twisting and squeezing and making him exhale a trembling breath. Her hand flexes at his shoulder, so he gives a slight nod – he wants to feel her every reaction, even if his back is going to be raw red all over. No, actually, he _wants_ his back raw red and tender. 

As he repeats the motion, thrusts his hips back with more force, her whole body tilts, nails digging in, head falling back, and he grips her thigh with probably bruising strength. 

Peter wants to be patient, he really does, he wants to drag it out, to show her how long he waited for it, how much he needed it, but he was never a patient man. His self-control lasts for only a few thrusts more, until her legs tighten, push at his hips and he relents with a groan that rumbles in his chest.

Sweat beads at the edge of his hair, his hip tremble, and the harsh sound of skin meeting skin fills the room with a wicked kind of anticipation that sizzles and pricks like electricity at his skin, hums in his blood, spurs his movements into a speed that’s on edge – but she’s _there,_ he feels her as much as he feels himself, all over him, under him, _with_ him, it’s almost too easy to lose it, but he’s not afraid he will. She moans, loudly, his name distorting into a choked sound that makes him stutter and it’s not going to last.

Bracing on his arm, straining, he moves his hand from her thigh over her hipbone, down to brush his thumb over the clit, lower to gather the wetness and up, over the little nub again, once, twice, thrice–

Eris’ body stills, strings tight like a cord, curves higher into his body, slik and hot – her nails dig into his back and then her whining moan cuts above the harsh sounds of their joining, she’s trembling, squeezing–

The way she tightens around him, pulls him in, _snaps_ – his hips stutter, fall flush to hers and he groans low in his throat as the orgasm racks his body right with Eris, shuddering, pulsating, spreading hot through his body. He keeps himself above her by sheer will.

It lasts longer than it should, than it ever did for him, flows and throbs in his muscles, rushes with his blood, until it slowly, slowly ebbs away, leaving a spent, warm kind of exhaustion.

He brings his arm up to hold himself better, shoulders trembling just the slightest bit, but he doesn’t have the mind to wonder at how it’s even possible he’s this spent. Just leans his forehead against hers, eyes closed, and breaths in.

Eris trails her fingertips over the muscles in his back, soothing, smooth, as much for him, as for herself, the other hand playing with his hair. Her legs are loosely looped around his hips and she doesn’t make a move to pull away. His heart thuds loudly, but it’s slowly falling into the right rhythm. 

„Everything alright?” she murmurs, low and soft.

An incredulous almost laugh tears at his throat. He’s never been more content in his life.

„More than,” he answers, finally opening his eyes to find her light violet ones locked on him. „You, lovely?” 

A smile so soft and happy curls her lips, sparkles in her eyes, that it melts something deep inside him. He realizes it’s the first time he used this nickname, he never allowed himself the privilege before.

„Perfect, actually.”

Peter leans in, the kiss soft and slow, just a brush, a light glide of lips that’s almost more intimate than every other they’ve shared this night. It throbs heavily in his chest, pulls at his lungs as he smoothes a thumb over her cheekbone.

„I love you,” he breathes out, into the kiss, and looks up. Eris stills, eyes going wide, like it doesn’t quite register, and it squeezes at his chest. „I’ve loved you back then, all those years ago, and still I love you now.” There’s no way she can’t see it in his energy, in the colors of his aura, can’t feel it in the thread that’s still pulsating lowly between them, but maybe– „You don’t have to answer, I just... wanted you to know–”

„Stop it.” She cups his cheek in her hand, brushes their noses together. „I love you too. Back then and now, still.”

His eyes burn a little, blur at the edges of his vision, so he closes them and lets himself get lost in her lips again, if only for just a second. It starts as the previous one, slow and light, but as he nips at her bottom lip, it sparks the heat back into his belly, or hers, or in both of them, and he realizes the situation they’re in.

„Lemme’,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, and Eris chuckles as she releases her grip.

He’s up, in the bathroom cleaning himself, and back before she’s wholly under the covers.

It’s almost too easy to fall back together as they do.

Peter lowers himself against the pillows, on his back, gathers Eris into his arms and she lays against his chest with a sigh that’s fully content, echoing in his own chest. He’s still not sure if she’s done it on purpose, if it just happened and she didn’t notice, or is it possibly wholly unique.

Threading his fingers through her loose tresses, fanned over the pillows, he hums low in his chest to get her attention.

„Are you feeling it too?” he asks as she looks up, then places his hand over hers that’s resting above his heart. „This.” He presses just a bit, hoping she’ll get what he means.

At first there’s only confusion, but as the echo washes over him like an afterthought, it clearly dawns on her, eyes widening.

„Oh...”

He can’t help the snicker that leaves his mouth.

„I gather this is not usual.” It’s not a question, but he can’t quite help the burning hope she’ll confirm it.

„No, not really.” She pushes herself up, leans across his chest. „I can form some types of connections and share... in the moment, too, but not to this extent.” She draws some loose locks behind her ear, cheeks colored with a pink blush.

Peter’s trying to battle the uneasy spark ignited at the thought she shared anything close to this with anyone else–

„I hope you don’t mind.” 

Any and all thought he could have about anyone but her evaporates.

„Babe, are you kidding me? This is the best sex I’ve ever had.” He’s completely serious and there’s a pleasant echo in his chest as Eris sucks her lower lip in, bites and releases it in a way that always scrambled his brain. „You’re incredible, sweetness, and I mean my every word.”

He bumps their noses together with a grin, making her release a sharp exhale. There’s a beginning of smile in the corners of her lips.

„Also, if this lasts beyond sex?” He lifts his brows, catches her eyes, and his grin broadens, teeth showing. „Better for me. No need to guess the mood, right?” He wiggles his eyebrows, which finally elicits a quiet huff of laugh.

She rolls her eyes and shifts against him, her body grazing his whole side, chest to chest, leg hooked between his own. They’re as close and tight as possible. It’s almost as if she’s teasing him on purpose.

Familiar kind of heat coils inside as he reaches up to cup her neck, leans to meet her in the middle and sink into the kiss. It’s no longer desperate – still a little bit hungry, still chasing the feeling, but it’s deliberate now, intense _, intimate,_ burning a low fire in his gut that pushes him against her body and thrills at the way her breathe wavers. His is not much better as they pull away.

„We could’ve been doing it for years,” he muses, noses brushing.

Eris hums low in her throat, fingers threading through his hair.

„Well then you have a lot of making up to do,” she murmurs, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with an invitation he’s not going to turn away.

“Anything for you, sweetness.”

He missed his chance once, didn’t take it when it’s been given, and he’s not doing it again. There’s still a lot to go through, but now, as she slides up his body, warms him up inside-out, kisses with a feeling he’s never felt before, he thinks it’s going to be alright.

And the night is still young.

He may as well just start making it up.

**Author's Note:**

> Got through all of it? Loved it? Hated it? Would like more? Let me know! Comments bring light into my life and always make my day. Kudos are lovely too, I cherish every type of response. Thank you for your time.  
> If you want, find me on tumblr - [link](https://raksh-writes.tumblr.com/) \- I post some other works there too, like headcanons, so check out my masterlist there to find them.


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